Timing
by punifa
Summary: Time seems to have something against them. Dimmock/Lestrade


There was always the issue of time.

When one of them was falling into bed, the other had just dragged himself into the bathroom. Whenever their lunch breaks collided it was for the hardly-there stretch of five minutes, tops. And then, of course, there were the days and weeks that one of them spent out of the range of most hospitable contact (e-mail was impersonal and phone calls were murderously scratchy, most of the time, with service charges stated in exotic and exorbitant tongues).

Because of this harsh vendetta that time (along with its faithful lackey, distance) had against the two Detectives, when they _did_ happen to stumble upon a mutual bubble of hours and space they were constantly discovering new things about one another.

"You wear contacts!"

Dimmock grimaced and splashed cold water into his eyes – he'd fallen asleep with his lenses in the night before, too exhausted and too comfortable in Lestrade's arms to remember to remove them.

"Yeah, I do."

"Since when?" Lestrade looked scandalized, gaze darting between the lenses' case and Dimmock's eyes.

"Primary school. Well, I had glasses then. My eyes have always been rubbish." Dimmock dried his face with a cloth and when he looked up Lestrade had his head tilted and his eyes wide, looking for all the world like a puppy encountering something for the first time.

"Am I blurry?"

Dimmock shook his head, reaching out to cup Lestrade's cheek, a fond smile playing on his lips. "I'm nearsighted, not far." He leaned up on his toes, closing his eyes and tilting his head back – then he nearly toppled forward when Lestrade abruptly stepped a few feet back. He opened his eyes with a huff and Lestrade smiled brilliantly at him.

"How about now?"

Dimmock rolled his eyes. "Yes, a bit, now come here." He stepped forward, hand outstretched, and Lestrade retreated from the bathroom with a chuckle.

"And now?" His grin was a blurred streak of white against the then hazy tan of his face.

"Very. Now stop being a child and let me kiss you."

Lestrade shook his head, continuing backwards until his calves bumped the mattress, chin lifted and arms crossed defiantly.

Well then.

Dimmock stood in place for a moment, eyes fixed on Lestrade's smudged face. Then he charged forward.

For such a small man Dimmock could be surprisingly hefty. Lestrade sailed onto the bed with a grunt, and Dimmock trapped his waist between his knees. The older Detective blinked and started laughing, throwing his weight up and flipping them both over.

I'm sure you can see me _now_," he said between the kisses he was raining over Dimmock's face, nipping on occasion at his ears and his jaw until the younger man gasped with exasperation and yanked him up by the collar. He cupped the back of his head and pressed their lips firmly together with a somewhat triumphant little _mmph_.

Lestrade relaxed on top of him and he quickly commandeered the kiss in a soft, lazy way. Time let them be for a while, but came rushing back soon enough.

"Greg…" Dimmock shifted beneath the man, fingers splaying against his chest and pushing gently. Lestrade grunted and moved his lips to mouth languidly at Dimmock's jaw, sending soft little flutters down his throat.

"I've got to be at the airport in a half hour."

"Right, right. Hang on then," Lestrade grumbled, taking Dimmock's face between his hands and tilting it forward. Dimmock blinked in confusion, then promptly closed his eyes as Lestrade covered one of them with his lips. He remained there just long enough for Dimmock to register the lightest rasp of stubble over his cheekbone before moving onto the other for just as brief a moment. Then Lestrade stood and pulled a slightly dazed, faintly blushing Dimmock to his feet, who gave his head a clearing shake, squeezed Lestrade's forearm, and headed back to the bathroom.

Lestrade leaned against the doorway, wincing a bit when Dimmock slid the lenses in place over his irises. Dimmock blinked until they were comfortable, then tried to smooth the stubborn cowlick that Lestrade had worked into the back of his hair. He sighed and gave up on that, then swept hurriedly into the bedroom to gather his already packed bags. Lestrade trailed after him, piping up as Dimmock slipped into his shoes.

"D'you still have glasses?"

Dimmock straightened up and nodded slowly. Lestrade leaned in with a grin.

"Do I get to see?"

"_No._"

"Why not?"

Dimmock hefted his bags as a car outside gave two short bursts of its horn. Dane was always very punctual. He glanced at Lestrade, who looked immensely disappointed (though whether that was mostly to do with the car horn or the glasses, Dimmock wasn't sure).

"They make me look like a weasel." He sighed and pulled Lestrade in, pecking his pouted lips and allowing himself to be folded into a broad-armed embrace.

"Doubt it," Lestrade murmured, and Dimmock chuckled weakly in reply.

"It's just a couple of days this time. Not even a week."

"Right. I'll be at work when you fly in."

"I'll probably swing through."

"Wear the glasses."

Dimmock's lips twitched and the horn again, more insistently. Dane was evidently in league with time and distance (it came with the job, of course. Without him Dimmock would have missed at least a half dozen flights by now).

"We'll see."

"Yes, you will." Lestrade grinned at his mangling of a joke and Dimmock shook his head with a smile, then pressed a final kiss to Lestrade's lips and stepped out the door, cheek's still tingling and eyes almost buzzing with the phantom pressure of Lestrade's lips

* * *

_Written for a lovely friend (and I suppose I won't kid; for myself, too) and beta'd by the fantastic **oftortoises**__from tumblr._


End file.
